


Make Me

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Force Feeding, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is too thin after his return and John just wants him to eat his damn toast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved with the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.

Sherlock’s feet are pressed against the foot of the sofa and his head is resting on the damask pillows on the other end when John passes through the sitting room into the kitchen. “Tea?” John calls to his flatmate, opening the cupboard. He glances over his shoulder at Sherlock, who’s wearing nothing but a white sheet hanging loosely around his waist. He doesn’t reply, simply lays there with his fingers tented under his chin. John turns away and grabs out two mugs anyway.

When the tea is made and John has made toast for two, he sets Sherlock’s food on the coffee table beside him. As it so often does, Sherlock’s arm extends and he lifts the tea to himself without opening his eyes. John nudges the plate closer to Sherlock on the coffee table. He came back to John looking far too thin; his cheekbones looked like blades and his usually strained shirts hung loose on his frame. It had been painful to look at. 

Sherlock's eyes open and he quirks an annoyed eyebrow at John as he raises the mug to his lips. They’d been chapped when he’d come back, cracked and bleeding in places. It was nothing a little petroleum jelly couldn’t fix. Now they were a rich pink as they cupped around the rim of the cup and Sherlock drank. His adam’s apple was more prominent as it bobbed in his thin throat. 

Sherlock’s every rib was on display. He wasn’t as dangerously thin anymore, but he was still in the restoration phase, gaining back the weight slowly, but surely, as long as John kept on him about eating.

“See something you like?” Sherlock said, lowering his half drained mug to the coffee table, his voice dropping an octave. John could see his muscles shift under his skin with every movement. 

“Not yet,” John said. “I made you toast, please eat it.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

John went to his chair with his own food and sat down. He pulled up his laptop and watched Sherlock over the top as he opened up his email. His flatmate went back to steepling his fingers with his eyes closed. 

John crunched on his toast as he replied to his emails, typing methodically the way Sherlock despised. When he was done, he tucked his laptop away and rose with his crumb covered plate and brought his mug into the kitchen for a refill. 

“Would you please?” Sherlock asked, holding up his own mug. John strode over to take it. There were still two pieces of toast left on the plate. He refilled both his and Sherlock’s mugs and carried Sherlock’s back to him. 

“Are you going to eat, Sherlock?” 

Sherlock turned his razor sharp gaze on him. “Make me,” he said, lips curling fiercely, eyes glinting. He'd been getting noticeably more agitated the more John hounded him to eat; at first, he simply ignored him. 

“Don’t say that, or I will,” John said back, just as steely. 

“I already did,” Sherlock smirked, his eyes dancing with humour and challenge. 

John picked up a piece of toast and surprise flickered on Sherlock’s face for a fraction of a second before he schooled it with a steady gaze. John circled the coffee table and sat down atop it. “Eat the toast, Sherlock,” he said, holding it out to him. 

“I said ‘make me’,” Sherlock said coolly, watching John with his mercurial eyes. 

John reached out so fast Sherlock didn’t know what had hit him until John was hovering over him, peering down as he clutched Sherlock’s dark curls. Sherlock let out a whimper in surprise; he had a tender scalp. “I said eat the bloody toast,” John said, his voice just as calm as in the start. He pressed the corner of the toast against the seam of Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock pressed his lips tight to deny it, nostrils flared in defiance. 

John released Sherlock’s hair and pressed his fingers into the hinge of Sherlock’s jaw, forcing his mouth open. Sherlock’s eyes widened as John forced the toast into his mouth and pushed his jaw up to bite down, making a loud crunch. 

“Are you going to chew it yourself, or do you want me to make you do that, too?” Sherlock bit through the toast, cutting off the corner. John pulled away the rest and watched as Sherlock chewed, his eyes staring back at John no longer challenging, but there was something else there John couldn’t read. He looked... flushed. 

When Sherlock swallowed, his mouth opened again and John hesitated, not understanding or not wanting to believe for just a moment, before he brought the toast back to Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock bit down. They did it without a word, John bringing forth the toast and Sherlock taking a bite each time until it was the last bite and Sherlock took the small bite, his lips closing around the tips of John's fingers. John couldn’t take his eyes off of Sherlock’s as they stared back at him, blinking slowly each time he chewed and swallowed. His hand left Sherlock's jaw and found its way into Sherlock's curls of its own freewill. He ran soothing fingers over his friend's scalp to make up for his earlier abuse to it. 

There were crumbs littering Sherlock’s chest, resting atop his sparse chest hair. John’s empty hand drifted up and he brushed the crumbs off gently, his fingers lingering on the smooth white skin. Sherlock watched, his lips parting on a silent gasp as John’s hands passed over his nipple. Realizing this, John’s hand went back to the pink peak and he watched Sherlock for his reaction as he brushed his thumb across it once more. Sherlock’s eyes closed and he pushed his chest up, back arching. 

John made sure Sherlock knew what he was doing so he could back out at any moment. He slowly lowered his head, eyes staying on Sherlock’s as his mouth came to a stop, hovering over the pert nipple. He pressed his lips around it much the same way Sherlock’s had around the lip of the cup and the tip of his fingers, and he licked it lightly with the tip of his tongue. 

Just as slowly as his tongue moved, John’s fingers dragged down Sherlock’s torso, his fingers going over the hills of his ribs and riding down the curve of his thin waist. His fingers came to a stop at the top of the white sheet, fingers pressed into the sharp jut of Sherlock’s hipbone. His elbow nudged something as he shifted and he glanced down to see that Sherlock was tenting the sheet. He hummed softly and pulled his mouth away to blow warm breath across Sherlock’s nipple. This time Sherlock gasped audibly and his thin fingers grabbed onto John’s shoulder. 

“John,” Sherlock said with wide eyes, digging his fingers in. “John.” 

“Hmm?” John said, bending down and sucking on Sherlock’s nipple. 

Sherlock dug his nails in harder. “John, kiss me," Sherlock said, sounding broken. "Will you?" 

John pulled away and looked up at Sherlock. He found him staring down at him, looking almost scared. “Of course,” John said, leaning up and smiling at Sherlock before he pressed their lips together. Sherlock’s lips were soft and pliant. He opened his mouth to John’s tongue easily and his tongue pressed up against John’s in a tentative slide. It tasted of black tea and strawberry jam. 

The angle was weird and Sherlock shifted onto his side to reach for John. His fingers balled in John’s jumper and he pulled John closer to push his tongue in deeper. It was a slow tangle and there was too much teeth on Sherlock’s part, it was awkward and uncomfortable and... and John wanted more. 

“I never thought I’d get to do this,” John said, pulling away only to press their lips together harder. He slipped his hand underneath the sheet and found that he’d been right as his fingers passed through coarse hair; Sherlock was wearing nothing underneath. 

John forced himself away from the kiss and pushed the sheet down to Sherlock’s knees to reveal his erection. He knelt up over it and gripped the shaft in his hand, earning him a groan from Sherlock. He bent down and sucked the head into his mouth. He’d never done something like this, but he wanted to, for Sherlock, so he lowered his mouth down the shaft until he couldn’t anymore. He sucked experimentally and kept it up as he pulled up to lave his tongue across the slit. Sherlock’s knees jerked up and nearly knocked John in the head. John hummed a laugh and sank down again, running his tongue along the bottom. 

Sherlock’s fingers, fisted in his jumper, began to tug it up. John pulled off to help it the rest of the way off. He was quick to remove the shirt underneath and undid his belt and jeans soon after. He pushed his jeans and pants down at the same time and sank back to his knees to take Sherlock into his mouth once more. 

It took some getting used to, but John was sucking moans and whimpers out of Sherlock in no time. He gripped what he couldn’t fit of Sherlock in his hand and lowered his mouth down to suck when he pulled back up. He collected the pre-come on his tongue, tracing the slit to make Sherlock whimper and dig his fingers into his shoulder. Sherlock watched him in awe as he took him deeper and John couldn’t resist taking his own cock into his hand and stroking as he inhaled the heady scent of Sherlock. 

“John,” Sherlock said, voice rough as his eyes darted from John sucking him off to John wanking himself, fast and frantic, and back again. His chest and cheeks were flushed a pretty pink and John sped up his hand and mouth. “John, I’m...” Sherlock was breathing harshly. “I’m going to come,” he said, nudging at John’s shoulder to tell him to pull off. 

John’s hand sped up even more at the words and he lowered down the furthest he could. He sucked tight on Sherlock's cock and the other man dug his nails into the sofa as he moaned and came down John’s throat. John nearly choked on it, but he swallowed and kept sucking as Sherlock pulsed in his mouth. 

“John,” he whimpered when he became too sensitive. He tugged on John’s arm to try and pull him up, but his body was too lax. “I want to see you come.” 

John rose and knelt down on the sofa between Sherlock’s legs. With Sherlock’s eyes taking in all of him, John stroked himself faster, his heart racing. Heat coiled low and hot and he only had to meet Sherlock’s eyes before he came, spilling across Sherlock’s thigh and hip. Sherlock gasped as it landed and his pupils widened. 

John's whole body was trembling as he lowered himself on top of Sherlock, unable to hold himself up anymore on his knees. He tilted his head up and kissed Sherlock softly. “When I thought you died, I thought I was never going to get to tell you how I feel about you,” he said, kissing Sherlock’s sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would have the chance to tell you I love you.” Sherlock looked down at John, eyebrows raised, and John smiled. “Because I do, Sherlock. I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Sherlock fic, so I hope it isn't awful...
> 
> I would be pleased if you tell me what you think!
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to follow me! :)


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